


Touch Me a Thousand Times (Got Love on My Mind)

by newyorktopaloalto



Series: Derry's Premier Murder/Turtle Cult - Side B [2]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Capsule Fic, Established Relationship, Every IT canon wrapped into one fic, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Missing/Additional Scene, Post-Canon, some formatting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22125601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newyorktopaloalto/pseuds/newyorktopaloalto
Summary: “Can you chop those greens for me? Please and thank you, sugar beans.”“Sure thing, my little latke.”Patty banged the wooden spoon against the saucepan and sighed, long and uninterrupted as Stan stood there smirking like a villain from a bad seventies sci-fi movie.“Why?”[An evening in the life of Patricia and Stanley Uris]
Relationships: Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Series: Derry's Premier Murder/Turtle Cult - Side B [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563637
Comments: 6
Kudos: 64





	Touch Me a Thousand Times (Got Love on My Mind)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Don't own IT. Title from 'I've Got Love On My Mind' by Natalie Cole. 
> 
> Stand-alone fic. (Also, Patty is taller than Stan and you cannot convince me otherwise.) 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy the fic!

  
**Stan**  
[Can you also please pick up some OJ on your way home to pack? We’re out.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21612889)

* * *

“Sweetheart?” 

Patty turned around and leaned against the kitchen counter, raising an eyebrow down at Stan who was holding the gallon of orange juice that she had bought with a confused expression on his face. 

“Yes, my darling?” she asked, watching as he flinched at her saccharine tone. 

“There’s no pulp in this.” 

“Isn’t there?” 

Stan shot her an unamused stare; Patty widened her eyes a little in the sort of faux-innocence that she knew drove him absolutely crazy. 

“Why are you punishing me?” 

“This was on sale,” Patty said. “Punishment has nothing to do with it.” 

“It probably has a _little_ something to do with it,” Stan retorted, and Patty nodded her agreement. 

“You would be disappointed if it didn’t.” 

“I’ll neither confirm nor deny that,” Stan said. 

“Confirmation in and of itself.” 

“So haul me away.” 

“I just might,” Patty replied, folding her arms across her chest - she watched as Stan took the cap off of the orange juice and started to dump it down the sink. 

“Wow.” 

Stan stared at her dead in the eye, unblinking until the last of the orange juice had gone down the drain. 

“You are a literal child, Stanley.” 

He grinned and threw the container into the recycling, before sidling easily into Patty’s space. “It’s the amnesia - sometimes I have unexplained bouts of regression.” 

Patty snorted and, inelegantly, said, “I’m sure.” 

She paused. “Now, are you over here for a reason, or should I go back to my sauce?” 

“Can the sauce sit?” Stan asked, bringing her down by the back of the neck for a kiss. She sighed a little into their press of lips and teased his shoulder blades with her fingers for a few moments, before she pulled away. 

“For sex? No. For anything else I could possibly think of? Of course - it’s sauce.” 

“Never mind.” 

“Such a mensch,” Patty said. “Can you chop those greens for me? Please and thank you, sugar beans.” 

“Sure thing, my little latke.” 

Patty banged the wooden spoon against the saucepan and sighed, long and uninterrupted as Stan stood there smirking like a villain from a bad seventies sci-fi movie. 

“Why?” 

“You don’t like it?” 

“You know I don’t.” 

“Hmmm.” Stan was silent for a protracted moment - Patty knew that he was building up to something, but something in the thrill of not knowing kept her tongue held as she let him gather whatever thoughts he wished. “Maybe it was on sale.” 

And then, of course, he said something so inane that Patty couldn’t help but wonder why he bothered to think at all. 

“That doesn’t even make contextual sense.” 

“You don’t make contextual sense.” 

Patty sighed again, chin dropped to her neck, and said, “My mother was right.” 

“That’s a low blow,” Stan replied from behind her - he wrapped his arms around Patty’s waist and pressed his forehead against the back of her neck. “You can’t do this to me, baby.” 

“Oh, can’t I?” Patty asked lightly. “I thought that was the entire point of being married - bullshit you have to legally extricate yourself from if you want to walk out.” 

“It’s just a slog,” Stan agreed easily. “And I don’t have any secret, forgotten loves of my life that would help me along.” 

“You don’t?”

Stan turned Patty around before saying, “Fuck you.” 

“Not tonight,” Patty replied, kissing Stan’s cheek. “Carson’s on.” 

“Carson hasn’t been on since - we didn’t even _know_ each other when Carson left the show.” 

“I have to wash my hair,” Patty continued on, waving away Stan’s comment with ease. “My car broke down and I have to take care of it. I have to go and pick up something from the cleaners. LuAnne’s coming in from out of town. I feel an earthquake coming on, and we need to prepare for the inevitable flood.” 

“Locusts?” Stan suggested dryly. 

“Locusts,” Patty agreed. 

“Now will you finish chopping, or do I need to do it myself?” 

“You can do it yourself,” Stan said, “because I need to go and pick up orange juice before it gets dark.” 

“Old man - with your glasses and terrible night vision.” 

Stan squinted up at her, exaggerated, and said, “I hope there’s enough spots near the front, I don’t know if my hips can take the walk.” 

“Shut up.” Patty laughed and kissed Stan quickly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose - she could not, for the life of her, imagine loving someone as much as she did Stan Uris. “You’re probably immortal anyways - making deals with evil space clowns and all.” 

“About that,” Stan started, “if you die in the next year, sorry. It was part of the deal.” 

“That’s stone-cold.” 

“That’s life.” 

And with that, Stan winked at her and left the kitchen. She heard him putter around the living room for a few minutes, whistling some operetta that Patty knew she had seen, but couldn’t quite remember the name of. Turning back to dinner, Patty found herself humming along with Stan as she chopped the greens that he had abandoned and added them to the still simmering sauce on the stove - this ease of life had almost been lost between the two of them for something that Patty could never even pretend to fully understand, and even with Stan shuffling about as he got ready to go to the store, there was a niggling feeling in her gut that he could be taken from her at any moment, and she wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. She turned the sauce off. 

“I’m going with you - I need to pick up a couple of things anyways.” 

“What’d you forget?” Stan called out from the hallway, his tone suggesting to Patty that while he knew she was lying, he didn’t quite understand why. 

“None of your business,” Patty said brightly, rounding the corner to the mudroom where Stan was waiting, her coat in hand. 

“You gonna hide your purchases?” Stan asked. “Sounds extreme.” 

“Make you turn around while I buy kiwis.” 

“I would pay to see you buy a kiwi, Patty,” he said, brandishing her jacket with a flare as he helped her into it. “You wouldn’t be able to tell if something was ripe if your life depended on it.” 

“It’s how that horror movie guy would get me. ‘The key is in the ripe cantaloupe - the others are filled with tiny bombs. You have one chance before I activate them.’” 

“Lazy writing,” Stan replied, gesturing for Patty to walk out so he could lock the door. “Seems like something for the eighth movie in a series.” 

“I should pitch the idea - I know people in Hollywood now.” 

“Such a hot-shot,” Stan teased, tossing Patty the keys so she could get into the driver’s seat. “I don’t even know why you’re still with a lowly accountant.” 

“Tight prenup,” Patty said. “He knew I was out of his league when we got married.” 

“Why’d you do it, then?” Stan asked. Patty watched him click into his seat belt before she backed out of their driveway - the gaggle of children that usually meandered around their cul-d-sac were in for an early dinner with their parents and guardians, previously mild weather slowly turning into the frosts of winter and unsuitable for playtime. The world had changed around her, grown up and wondering how she had even survived her own fairly normal childhood with what she had been allowed to get away with - with what her parents never really cared to bother themselves with, as long as she was back before sundown and never got the police called on her. 

“Love, I guess,” Patty said after a moment. “Or something else that made me incredibly idiotic.” 

“Spiked sweet tea?” Stan suggested. 

“Slowly weaned me off it once the marriage license went through.” 

“Exactly. And at that point…” Stan trailed off and shrugged, patting Patty’s hand where it rested on the gearshift consolingly. 

“Thanks for not making a fuss about me tagging along.” 

“You’re driving,” Stan pointed out. “So it’s basically doing me a favor.” He paused. “Are you okay, though?” 

“I’m fine.” Patty breezed away Stan’s concern with a wave of her hand that had been on the wheel. “Sometimes I just love you so much that I can’t keep stay away.” 

“That… seems unlikely.” Stan said. 

“My loving you?” Patty asked, barely remembering to signal as she hooked a left, squeaking by an Audi that had decided to inconveniently accelerate during her blinking yellow. 

“That at any point in our lives together you’ve been physically unable to keep yourself away from me.” 

Patty didn’t dignify him with a response - they, the both of them, knew his words to be a patent falsehood: after their car wreck, her stalker incident, his cancer scare, their reunion in Portland after a series of frantic calls from a landline in Derry, Maine - after all of that, there couldn’t _not_ be days that she felt so in love with him she couldn’t find it within herself to stay away. 

“You missed the turn,” Stan said after a few moments of silence. 

“Aw, crap.” 

With no one around her, Patty didn’t feel at all worried about making her highly illegal U-turn to backtrack to her desired destination - Stan’s mutterings about road safety and her lack thereof notwithstanding. Back on track, then, and with no rejoinder for her husband, the car fell silent; after a few moments, however, Stan clicked on the radio and tuned it to their local NPR station. A repeat of ‘All Things Considered’ came on - both Patty and Stan ignored whatever could have been said in the lull of their conversation, and Patty wondered if Stan was lost in the nebulous past and forthcoming future. Thoughts centered around the esoteric, however, were for another day and another dollar, and Patty placed them away in a box in favor of commenting on a news story that they had both already heard. 

“Remember to get orange juice,” she said as the station hit commercial. “You went through that last carton so fast it seemed like you poured it down the sink.”

* * *

**The Heathers**

**[21:34] Patty** Grocery shopping at 9PM is an experience.

 **[21:35] Patty** Shout out to my husband who made this all possible. 

**[21:36] Patty** He is an animal. 

**[21:38] Audra** all of this. for orange juice. 

**[21:39] Patty** It’s a sad state of affairs. 

**[21:40] Bev** I mean its your own fault though

 **[21:40] Bev** :3

**Author's Note:**

> xoxo


End file.
